Page 37 of Her Darkest Possession

"I don't know," Anatoly says, his eyes softening with sorrow. "Amara had a hard enough time telling me the details of what happened after you were taken away. I didn't want to make her say anything she didn't want to say."

"Thank you." I nod slowly, biting back the rage burning hotter and hotter inside me like a wildfire. "For telling me what you could find out. And thank you... for bringing my sister back to me."

Anatoly's eyes soften slightly. "I'll give you time with her. You both survived something terrible in such a short time." He reaches out, his fingers grazing my arm. "When you're ready, you can find me in the basement."

My pulse quickens. "The basement? What's in the?—"

"Grisha." He spits the name like poison.

And in an instant, the anger that's been smoldering in me burns into a full-fledged inferno. The man who told me he was going to rape me on the train. The man one who helped Lola cage my sister. The one who was going to sell her to Killian O'Shea.

My nails dig into my palms, and I can feel crescent indentations forming in their wake.

"I'll make sure Amara is okay first," I say. "And when I'm done with that, I'll come find you in the basement."

Anatoly nods, his jaw tight. "I'll work him until you do. Try to see what else he might be willing to divulge. But I don't expect honesty. He knows he's about to die, and he'd rather die twisting the knife than offer up the truth."

"I agree. Make him hurt. Make him suffer. All I ask is that he's still alive when I come down... so thatIcan watch him die."

Once upon a time, those words would've shocked me. They certainly would've shocked Amelia Taylor. But not Indigo Baryshev. To Indigo Baryshev, these words feel perfect. They feel right. They sound like justice and not just blind vengeance.

Anatoly studies my face for a moment, then leans forward to press a kiss to my forehead. "As you wish,britvochka."

I watch Anatoly walk back down the stairs, his shoulders squared with purpose. Roma follows right behind him, and then Vassily.

Just as he's about to disappear from view, Vassily turns back, and his eyes find mine.

I can still feel his hand clamped around my wrist as he dragged me into that dusty room at Valentina's command. I can still remember the way he looked at me then, like I was nothing more than prey.

But there's something different in his eyes now. A sheepishness that wasn't there before. He holds my gaze for a beat longer than necessary, and lets something unspoken pass between us, before he turns and follows his brothers to the basement where Grisha is.

I turn and lean against the wall outside Amara's room, listening to the sound of the shower running. My mind keeps circling back to the worst possibilities of what might have happened to her. Did they hurt her? Did they touch her? What else did they do to her?

The thought makes bile rise in my throat.

Don't think about that,I tell myself.Don't make this worse than it already is without knowing what happened.

I close my eyes and try to steady my breathing. Amara needs me to be strong right now. She doesn't need to see me fall apart when she's the one who's been through hell.

The shower shuts off suddenly. A moment later, I hear her bathroom door creak open.

I wait a few more heartbeats, giving her time and space to get dressed. Only when I hear the sound of drawers closing do I raise a hand to gently knock on the bedroom door.

"Amara?" I call softly. "It's me. Can I come in?"

There's a painfully long silence after my knock, and I wonder if Amara's going to shut me out.

After what she's been through, I wouldn't blame her.

But then I hear soft footsteps padding across the floor, and the door cracks open.

"Come in," she says, her voice smaller than I've ever heard it.

I step inside, and the sight of her hits me like a punch to the chest. She's washed off all that garish makeup they put on her. Her eyes are red-rimmed. The awful lingerie is crumpled in the corner of the room like something toxic she can't bear to touchanymore. She's bundled herself into gray sweatpants and an oversized hoodie that seems to swallow her whole.

"Are you..." I start, then realize how ridiculous the question is. "Are you alright?"

Amara hugs her arms around herself and sighs.